


Head Above Water

by Sandwich130



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Humor, Ivan being Ivan, Middle Ages, Other tags may be added, They're kids in the main story, Translation, Violence, russian winter, well young nations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandwich130/pseuds/Sandwich130
Summary: Grumpily, Russia remembers an under-cooled spring and a lukewarm summer 700 years ago. Back in the day, when he was still a pestered young nation and had to share his sparse cabin (due to reasons that could best be described by "Own clumsiness") for a few months not only with his sisters, but also with this loud, cocky, loudmouthed nuisance of a young nation.
Relationships: Belarus & Russia & Ukraine (Hetalia), Prussia & Russia (Hetalia)
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue - A justified question

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Kopf über Wasser](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/573799) by NepheleNilfhain. 



> Since this is a translation, it doesn't belong to me.

Do I look like the rutting curtisan of the bourgeoisie?!“  
With a very angry expression, Ivan „Whatdidhejustask?!“ Braginsky was standing at the door of the huge office which was traditionally overflowing with files – a circumstance that rendered him additionally annoyed – while his „coworkers“ tried to hide behind their work. Estonia melted into a giant pile of questionable bills, Lithuania remembered that he still had something on the stove, Georgia and Moldova fled into the archive, the 'Stans pretended yet again not to understand any known languages, and Belarus simply smiled. She knew why. Her brother did as well. Only Raivis was standing there without any protection and looked up to the angry Soviet Union with huge eyes.  
„Shouldn't you be wearing a dress for that? And maybe a different hairstmblmpf.“ He didn't get any further, because the firm, loving fingers of Ukraine closed his mouth, while a quiet voice hissed into his ear: „Rhetorical question Raivis, we talked about that!“  
„Brother!“ she chirped somewhat louder, with the warmest smile she could manage, which meant that even the northeasternmost snowbank, which had been covering the Ice Palace since the beginning of November, was ready to melt. „Come on, speak, what happened? Sit down, let someone get you a cup of tea, and tell me what's on your mind!“  
This was so cliche that it actually worked. Grumbling, Ivan dropped on his chair, took the cup of tea (technically more some sort of grog with vodka and a shot of tea), and handed a letter to his older sister that had obviously a long way and several angry attacks behind it.  
She briefly skimmed over the contents, a bit confused, since it didn't say anything they didn't already know – or anything that hadn't already been expected to happen. „Vanya, darling, I see what it says here, but why would it make you think that someone wants to dress you in provocative clothing and expects you to do morally dubious deeds?“ she asked her brother with honest confusion. He would have stomped anyone else into the shabby rug for this question. Unfortunately, with his older sister, you could expect her to mean everything exactly as she said it – also, without her, the entire household in the Ice Palace would have broken down already.  
„You know how I meant it“, he growled evasively and poured some more vodka into his tea that definitely had too much tea in it. „This“ he banged on the letter, „is impertinent!“  
„Oh, Vanya, it was to be expected though, wasn't it? Also you said that you were going to do it often enough yourself...?“ Puzzled, she looked at her angry brother and realized that she really had no idea why he was so upset.  
Said brother drank tea, huffed, drank more tea, and decided that he couldn't explain it to save his life. „Multi-layered problem“, he growled, „Can't explain it to you in one or two words.“  
His sister nodded. „Multi-layered problem?“ she smiled somewhat sadly at her (no matter what else he might be) little brother, and gently stroked his hand. She didn't want to show more intimacy as long as the others were watching and interpreting every gesture like this one as a weakness. „Or just one word?“  
„One word,“ Russia spat, „Gilbert.“

I'm going to do it NOW, Ivan grumbled in his thoughts, RIGHT NOW. No 'thinking about it' this time, this is going to happen NOW, and the 'Stans can look for themselves how they'll get the hole in this fucking hard ground. I'll give them a bar of dynamite and THEN this topic will be over FOR GOOD. He paused for a moment and pulled a gun out of his pocket, checked it, and noticed that it was fully loaded. This should be enough even for this special annoyance, although he was definitely harder to kill than Siberian cockroaches. Most of those had given up in January, at least those who had lived in the basement. Which was indeed a bit chilly, Ivan admitted unwillingly, while he was kicking against the heavy door, whose lock was uncooperatively frozen. Given the fact that he was in here so much, you would have thought that this sort of thing didn't happen... unless, of course, there was - due to whatever reasons - enough blood on the key to make the lock freeze over. He'd have to be more careful- at this point Ivan interrupted his train of thoughts and thought about the news he had been served. He'd be walking through this door for the last time today, so he didn't have to make any new plans.  
But no matter how hard he tried, it just didn't want to feel like a last time.

The Ice Palace was a modern building through and through, full of the newest technology and the inventions of the 20th century. In other words: There was electric power, even in the basement. Enough to power the small emergency solution 15-watt „lamp“, that managed to produce more shade than actual light, and made Ivan wish himself back to the times where smoky torches, candles and oil lamps gave them light. The good old times, where, when building a basement, you expected to store things in there that reacted sensitively to wetness. If there weren't those damn bears and their incredible dexterity, you could have almost thought of just storing everything outside. Unfortunately, the bears thought that everything that was at least somewhat edible, had to be bear food for sure.  
Except for the one thing that was actually stores in this basement. Ivan already tried it – the bears hadn't been interested in this food. Probably because they weren't used to being shot at with icy snowballs, probably because they were too well-fed to assault an angry, thin and also defensive victim. Also, after three short (and amusing) hours, Ukraine had forced him to get Gilbert back inside, while making it clear that she wasn't okay with living in the neighborhood of bears that had been fed with the flesh of nations – and possibly acquired the taste in the process. The bears would probably be hungry enough by now, but there wasn't much left of Gilbert.  
The bloody mess was laying close to the wet and cold wall, and snored quietly, something that Ivan considered an affront. In the beginning, the pale son of a bitch always flinched and became wide awake as soon as Ivan made the effort to enter the cell. Nowadays, you had to give him a firm kick and even that didn't successfully wake him up every time. Deep down under a big layer of anger, resentment, hate and a lot of pain, the sober and rational Ivan (a guy you didn't see often) noted, that even a tough nation like Prussia would be at their end someday and that the leftovers were most likely pragmatic enough to try and get as much sleep as possible to keep their last reserves of strength. And because the rational Ivan was a bit of a bastard, he whispered something along the lines of „Just leave him there and don't let anyone in here for the next 3, 4 days, then you'll have gotten rid of the problem without getting your hands dirty.“ Sadly, the efficient Ivan was a straight-up bastard and added: „Well, at least not dirtier than they already are. I mean, he didn't get himself into this state, right? And slowly dying from hunger, cold, and general demolitions is definitely much better than a bullet straight through the head.“  
On some days, Ivan wished that he could just tell the efficient Ivan as clearly as possible, what exactly he thought of him. Language probably wouldn't be necessary for that, this callous genius could definitely understand the most of it himself. 

For a short moment he contemplated just shooting, but Ivan didn't enjoy some thing about the thought of shooting someone in their sleep. He himself wouldn't like to be shot without any warnings. To be fair, he wouldn't like being shot in general. Especially not in his sleep. Although... without warning? If the past one and a half years hadn't been enough of a hint, Gilbert was either suffering from an especially fast type of reality loss, or he was just much more stupid than previously assumed. Nevertheless, shooting someone in their sleep just seemed wrong to Ivan.  
Waking Gilbert up turned up to be surprisingly hard. The usual kick just led to the mess turning on his side and grunting unhappliy. A second, even harder kick turned out not to be a very smart idea, since he (partly due to the bad lightning) got horribly tangled up in a jumble of half-destroyed pieces of clothing, chains, and something that he could swear had been a perfectly fince potato sack about a year ago, about which every other prisoner would have been happy to receive as a blanket. While trying to free himself and keep some of his dignity intact, he lost his dignity first, then his balance, and finally the last bit of foothold he had left, so that Ivan got to know the floor nose-first.  
He got up somewhat dizzy. The basement's wall had turned out to be a bit harder than his head, and he could feel a big bruise growing under his fingertips, unfortunately at his temple and one of the nasty sort. He needed a break, a cigarette, a sip of vodka and an idea, he didn't really care about the order in which they came.  
Groggy and a bit depressed he sat down next to the still snoring mess and looked at what used to be a nation once. Altough he was wondering how in the world this bastard was able to sleep. Everything still hurt him from the war, and it had been a long time since he'd gotten a full night's sleep. It was even worse when he was out of painkillers, but this pale son of a bitch was just laying there and sleeping! He really couldn't believe it.  
He probably more than deserved that bullet, but Ivan Braginsky needed a cigarette first. Something to hold on to, to sort his thoughts and also to buy some time, although he didn't even want to say that part out loud to himself.

Grumpy, he lighted one of his Russian cigarettes, which were too bad to be called „horrible“. Ironically, the man that made him start smoking in the first place, was laying right next to him, slightly twitching as he was sleeping. Of course he'd looked much more healthier back then, and he always had those good Egyptian cigarettes, that didn't taste like reindeer shit and tree bark. A slight itch in his throat made Ivan cough.  
„Great“, he grumbled, „is there anything I've gotten from you that wasn't bad for my health somehow?“ He pushed against the pile next to him, poked around in the human mess, when thin fingers wrapped themselves around his hand and gripped it surprisingly tight. Shocked, Ivan stared at the still unconcious, who had gripped his hand in his sleep and realized: He knew this grip. He had felt it before.  
700 years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and talk to me about the fic!  
> I appreciate grammar and spelling-related criticism ^^


	2. Thin Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the main story starts!  
> The quotation marks look "normal" now, since I changed to Docs. ^^;

His wonderful childhood, where really everyone thought that it would surely be entertaining to beat up the little blonde kid with the big nose. Except for his sisters, he only saw others like him, when they chased after him heavily armed and cheering, and that was before he had learned how to hit back properly. Even his little sister seemed to be more defensive than him, at least she didn’t make it easy for those damned Mongoles - he had already observed her burying her teeth deep into Mongolian calves, hard enough to make the screaming Mongoles carry her with them in their panic. This was way more radical than everything he was brave enough to do. Also he was lousily armed.  
“We’ll protect you”, the princes promised him, but he didn’t notice anything like that. Usually he just stood there, together with his sisters when he was lucky, holding a stick in his hands. Sticks could be devastating, but against swords, even the best sticks turned to firewood at an alarming speed. Which was also useful, just not during battle.  
Especially not, when the Teutonic Knights arrived out of the blue again. The Teutonic Knights, who were regrettably well armed, experienced in armed engagement, heavily armed and superior in numbers, with their official call “Nobiscum deus” and their unofficial one “Push off!” Ivan got a stomachache just thinking of that group, and that was without counting the worst factor of the whole thing in: The incredible big-mouth, who represented their nation. Naturally heavily armed as well, very loud and sadly also very competent when spreading fear and terror with a sword that was almost as long as himself.  
Which, strictly speaking, also applied to longer daggers, at least that was what his younger sister claimed, although with this special, spiteful undercurrent, which hinted that she couldn’t stand the knights or the miniature version who personified their upcoming empire. But when he was sitting on one of those gigantic horses, he definitely looked “too tall” for Ivan, the chronic pedestrian.

Back then, almost everyone looked “too tall”. Apparently all of them had to go through this frustrating, not very dignified phase, during which their bodies looked more like those of human children, although they were older than most humans could hope on becoming. Try being dignified, when you can barely reach the princes’ hips and look like you secretly stole your clothes from other people’s clotheslines - which was unfortunately true, Ivan had to admit. When they weren’t currently fighting with others, he was completely and absolutely uninteresting, and could look for himself how he managed to get by in his cabin in the woods. Not rarely, he asked himself how the others were treated and if “gross neglect of countries” was something, that his people were especially good at.  
Additionally, some people just had no idea how long it took for a Russian winter to completely disappear, and popped over in mid-april, even though everyone knew that the snow was especially unpredictable that time of the year.... 

"Move your lazy ass, we've got stuff to do! A lot!" is never the best kind of way to start the day. Combined with a strong kick in the butt and the expectation for a hearty breakfast including a pap out of … well, whatever was left in the pantry. In case of doubt, there would be wood shavings swollen in water with a side of fresh, healthy moss.  
"Mf?" the still very sleepy Ivan managed to say and looked up to his current master, the prince Newski, who impatiently looked down on his country who was rubbing at his eyes, and wondered how long it would take until a nation could raise an impression that was a bit more remarkable. He'd heard from other countries who didn't need to put their head WAY back to look up to their prince and who DIDN'T provoke a "He's so cute, can we keep him?!" at a Mongolian invasion. Cute with at least three "u".  
"Work", the prince grumbled and threw the worn-out frock to his country who hurried up and slipped into it before he froze at the night-cold wir. "The Knights, those damned Germans. Causing trouble again."  
"And what about us?" Russia, who got tangled up in his cape, whimpered.  
"We're causing trouble back", his prince growled and helped his hopelessly tangled up nation to get dressed. "Could you maybe grow up a bit faster? In the next few hours, if possible?"  
"Am a late bloomer", Ivan mumbled tartly. It wasn't his fault that he was such a squirt, he was almost completely sure about that. He just didn't dare to explain that in all details to his prince, that guy didn't look like he was the sort of person to listen to his nation. Which was why he didn't protest when they bundled him off on one of the horses and chased him away into the early morning that had barely started.

There was a fundamental misunderstanding between Ivan and his prince: His prince lived under the mistaken assumption that Ivan was a naturally aggressive nation. That was the friendly assumption, the concerning one went more along the lines of the prince not caring at all about whether Ivan was made for fighting or whether bis opponents weren't a bit too many and too powerful for him. Since he had found out that Ivan's biggest strength were his incredible taker qualities, he shooed his nation pretty mercilessly into battle. His creepy, frosty protector, on whom you sadly couldn't rely completely, could interfere in an emergency.  
Truthfully, Ivan dreaded the armored riders of the knights. Every time they bored down on him, he believed he'd immediately become a small pile of bloody pulp in the mud, stomped by the hooves that seemed almost as big as his entire head. In their white capes with the silver armor, they looked like a mob of winter demons, and their nation screamed and clamored as if he came directly from hell. Usually strong insults, not very realistic challenges or daring claims, but in a way they served their purpose: Ivan noticed that he was not only impressed - he also felt a little bit intimidated.  
More specifically, he felt:  
1\. Little  
2\. A bit  
and  
3\. Intimidated.  
Aside from that, THIS guy had a big, shiny sword, and Ivan just a stick. Okay, it was a big stick and his prince had let it be studded with iron, but he felt extremely badly armed in comparison with a sword.  
Someone had lifted him down from his horse and put him in front of the troops. "As an encouragement". Ivan didn't feel particularly encouraged. Not because he'd been carried around from one fight to another for days now, not because it was simply way too early (especially considering that the feast of encouragement had taken place until the late hours of the night yesterday and could definitely NOT accurately be described with "quiet and civilized"), not because someone had messed things up big time because they were standing on a lake, which wasn't an idea that had a future, not eve in this area in the beginning of April. Underneath the crusting layer of snow that covered the ice, it croaked and crunched in a concerning way, but no one else except for him seemed to notice - or care.  
"Sir…" Nervously, a small hand tugged at the princes' heavy coat, who was, however, doing what princes had been good at since the beginning of time: Completely ignoring his nation.  
"Prince?" The hesitant tugging turned into a pulling, but aside from a small growl, Ivan got no reaction.  
"Lord?!" Not only did he run out of titles soon, but also by now he could feel clearly how the ice below them started moving.  
"WHAT?!" the prince yelled at his frightened nation, who worked up his courage and considered: What could he possibly do to me? Keep dragging me to new battlefields all the time, badly armed?  
"The ice, Prince", Ivan urged, "it's breaking."  
Distrustful, the prince stomped on the ground several times. "Nothing's moving here", he huffed, "This will hold well."  
"An entire army?" Ivan asked sceptically, "Two entire armies? With armored riders? It's going to break, I can feel it."  
Something in the intelligent eyes of the prince gleamed deviously. "Are you sure?" he asked, and Ivan nodded heavily. That was the ground below him, he was well informed there. If they stayed, they would all be in danger. Aside from the danger that came from a battle. Deep down, Ivan suspected: They'd end up here, dead AND wet. And most likely with a cold.

He would have loved nothing more than to run away, but the prince knew his nation pretty well by now, grabbed his collar and pushed him along in front of himself, all the way up front where the only thing that was visible was ice and behind that, a different army.  
“Grwp!” Slightly panicky, Ivan observed the approaching army of the Teutonic Knights and felt the certainity on this ice-cold morning: He would never become a nation made for war. Because seen enough, those hooves - how tall could horses get anyway?! - were going to transform him into a bloody pulp! Because those swords (how did they get them to shine like that?) were going to cut him into slices soon enough, very thin slices! Because the ice was moving up and down significantly by now and was going to burst soon and they were all going to disappear into the cold wetness.  
“Stoooop!” he tried to shout, “The ICE!” But except from the prince stomping on his foot, no one reacted to his attempt at saving them all. “Be quiet”, his prince hissed at him indignantly, “That’s the plan!”  
Confused, Ivan wanted to ask what kind of plan that was supposed to be, when the Teutonic Order had to show yet again that he was especially good at one thing: Mercilessly putting himself on the scene. Only someone, whose mind was hopelessly frozen, would jump up with his galopping horse, raise his sword and scream something like “Tremble in front of the power of God, you worms! Get a taste of this holy steel! Bloood!” - and a millisecond later “Damnit! Where is the groundblubblrblubbb?!” But then it was a bit late altogether to think of something else and the damage was already gone.  
When a rider breaks into the ice, this is a splashing, screaming and a jumble of kicking hooves and desperate attempts to free oneself from the respectively other being to maybe still get out of the freezing slop and to the saving shore. Additionally, with an armored rider, a really HEAVY horse with an equally heavy rider broke through the ice and made small shards of ice out of the surrounding frozen surface.  
With 500 armored riders and an according amount of infantry, this was a lot of ice breaking, considerably more than expected. In just a few moments, what used to be a frozen sufrace, was now an inferno of thrashing bodies, ice, and numbingly cold water, which was everywhere. A huge ice floe crashed right beside him, and the pressure pulled him underwater, where Ivan kept his eyes wide open out of fear, although he believed they’d freeze over soon. Right below him, some sort of white cloud floated in the water, which he gripped tightly without thinking. For a moment, he saw a face that was as cold as ice, then he was already pulled upwards at his own coat.  
“When my father told me that I’d have to save my empire from drowning, I imagined it to be less literally”, Prince Newski grumbled, although not very angrily, since he was indeed aware that he had been warned.  
Wheezing and coughing, Ivan continued to pull himself up to the cold, slippery but generally sturdy shore, still holding the coat in his hands, which was becoming heavier, and on which the gasping Teutonic Order was hanging, looking remarkably like a drowned rodent. He tried to say something, but it wasn’t understandable due to his chattering teeth - it was probably something like “Look at my frosty halo! May you all be beaten with a stuffed nose, punished with a cough! Coughcoughcough!” anway. Or whatever his weird laugh sounded like. What an idiot! A full of himself, total, complete idiot! A reckless buffoon, who was to dumb to understand how dangerous it was to jump around on ice.  
Even though most of the drowned belonged to the Teutonic Knights, enough of the princes’ men had sunken, that Ivan could painfully feel it and that the nausea made him gag and spit. The cold ran through him, but unlike the others he wasn’t shaking, he could barely feel the cold. Cold and rage made him completely calm, when this purple veil covered the world and swiped everything else away, except for this special smile…  
Incredible, how well his hands fit the thin throat of the Teutonic Order and how easily he could squeeze this usually loud throat shut. He noticed the hectic and panicking hands trying to grab him, their nails digging into Ivans soft skin, and looked into those weird eyes. Were the people right? That someone with red eyes like this had to be a demon from hell? This demon, who was wriggling underneath him, croaked something, surely new curses or insults, or maybe something in his hellish language? That he didn’t understand anyway, he just wanted the other to finally realize how wrong it was, what he’d just done. People had died just because he was an idiot.  
Then, the idiot became quiet, and when the purple veil disappeared, Ivan realized: He just strangled an other nation. He was going to be in so much trouble...


	3. An ice-cold knight

Maybe no one had noticed him pulling the hostile nation out of the water too, Ivan considered, looking around carefully. If he just spread some loose snow on top of the boy - who was pretty white anyway - it would take at least until the thaw for someone to find him. Probably even longer, because who would look for him? His people? Those had either just drowned or now served as a welcome source of income, since there was a generous amount of ransom money to be expected for them.  
Oh. Source of income. Crap...

“How is it going?” one of the princes’ men shouted to him, while freeing one of the less lucky knights from his worldly possessions, especially those you could sell well. “You need help? We’ll get going soon.”  
“I- naaah… gnhn…” Without much hope, Ivan lightly kicked the motionless body that was slowly freezing already (at the edges). “No, no, I’m good!”  
“Hurry up, we want to get the tinheads to the fortress, store them so they grow golden blossoms.” That sounded far more poetic than the actual process, Ivan knew. If the knights were lucky, they’d get a sparse room with a bit of hay that got changed every now and then, a fireplace and the right to porridge twice a day, as well as a solid, permanently closed door.  
If they weren’t lucky… Ivan didn’t like to think about the “if they weren’t lucky”-option. He’d seen some of those who weren’t lucky once in a while, and then his sisters had to sleep in his bed because otherwise the Russian nation didn’t sleep very well. His people scared him quite often.   
“Do you need blankets?” one of the servants asked, “this one was in the water too, and frozen he won’t be of any use.”  
“Um - do we even need him?” Maybe they didn’t even want their nation back, the guy was a real pest after all and… Ivan sighed again. And he probably also just did what his masters wanted him to do. And they’d probably had the idea “We want the country. Give it back. And don’t try to resist.” Saddened with his own prospects, he poked the limp body. “But we’ve already got the knights.”  
“But we also need all of the gold we can get”, his prince grunted in passing, “so stop dawdling and get this one ready for travel.”  
Hesistant, Ivan risked a look to the lake which was only a few steps away. If he just tripped and concidentally, accidentally, moved the body down the shore again to make it sink, this would surely only count as a stupid accident that no one could do anything about, and nothing that he’d be hanged upside down from the pinnacle for, after they’d covered him in millets and startled all birds in the area. It was definitely too wintery for the thing with the honey and the ants, the ants were still resting under the snow. Ivan knew why he was scared of his own people.  
Two steps should be enough. One - two -

“Hurry up!”

He tripped and landed on the snowy ground - next to his victim. He wouldn’t get to anything like this, he just couldn’t work properly under such circumstances! “I’ll take him myself”, Ivan announced, mouth still full of snow and pine needles. “That’s better anyway because… well…” Because then no one will notice I’ve broken the hostage before we got the ransom money, but if i tell them THAT like THIS, the prince is going to try out the thing with the barrell, the nails and the hill on me, and if I got the fairytale right, this didn’t do any good to the evil queen either.   
“If you say so, but you’ll have to see for yourself how you feed him then”, the prince replied, shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t need to have this pale pest in my house. We’ll leave a few blankets and a sleigh for you, look for yourself how to get him to your cabin.”

Which was of course just a miserably long way, through frosty woods full of wolves, bears, Mongoles, and the old Baba Yaga had been spotted more often lately as well, or better, the enormous chicken feet prints of her cabin in the snow. He already wanted to protest, until he remembered: Those were all very good possibilities to lose a helpless, because they were dead, hostage. ESPECIALLY if the hostage was already dead.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll manage”, he mumbled in his scarf and half-heartedly worked around with the blankets. As soon as the princes’ men disappeared into the trees, there would only be a discreet “splash” anyway, and his little frosty problem would start his journey to the bottom of the lake, where the fish probably already thought that the scaly fish gods were having a damn good day today, since they’d put so many things on the table for their people.  
Even though there really wasn’t much meat on the German Order, he turned out to be quite heavy and could hardly be moved from his spot. Which was no change from the alive version. It took several strenuous minutes until the few steps to the shore were passed and he only had to let the other slide down. Panting and sweating, he pushed the body, who promptly started rolling, when a small, bony and ice cold hand took his and gripped it hard.   
Surprised, Ivan produced a quiet, quealing noise while jumping back, or in better words: Attempted to, because for a proper jump, the German Order held him too firmly with his claws, a situation that was unfortunately familiar. He probably had this grip ready for all opportunities, Ivan thought, displeasured, and failed to free himself. Which wasn’t really a surprise either. This guy was stubborn.   
“I’m not throwing you back into the water, just let go of me!” Ivan groaned, and actually managed to free himself. For a moment, he wondered whether it wasn’t a better idea to throw this still quite limp fish back into the water anyway, but then Ivan heard what the boy had already said, when Ivan was trying to turn off his air. A small wheezing

“I’m sorry.”

This probably marked the death of his plan “Back into the water”. Unlike the main part of said plan. He was laying there with his teeth chattering, and caused several serious problems. Starting with the first one: Someone had to be defrosted quickly, because Ivan seriously doubted that the Teutonic Order could deal well with the cold. 

Getting the boy out of the partially already frozen armor turned out to be more complicated than previously assumed, especially when your own fingers were slowly, but surely also turning to ice. Ivan didn’t cet cold that fast, not due to real cold, but at a certain point even he got a bit chilly. Clumsily, he pulled at the lacing of the armor, until his prisoners’ blue fingers pushed him aside. “Forget trying to get it apart like this. Just cut this shit through.”  
“But that’ll destroy the straps!” Ivan, who generally thought that destroying good, intact clothes was offensive even when it was made out of tin (a material that he deemed rather idiotic for clothing, since it didn’t keep you warm), protested. The cold guest in front of him seemed to have a different opinion on that, since his freedom to move was hindered by the different pieces of his armor freezing together.   
“Listen, chubby, I’m currently experiencing my shirt freezing at a place where ice is very bad news”, the boy snarled at him gruffly, “Do you really think I care about a few broken straps right now?”  
“I’m sure they’re not made to be cut apart”, Ivan the Frugal insisted, which earned him an annoyed and surprisingly cold look, considering it was shot out of very red eyes.  
“They’re only supposed to do one thing: Hold during the battle”, the other huffed at him, “And after the battle it’s doubtful whether you can open them through any other means than cutting. When all the blood is already sticking to it - or other liquids, parts from former opponents, parts from yourself, parts from - say, green isn’t your normal colour, right?”  
“I’m cutting as soon as you stop talking about sticky parts”, Ivan, who had already seen a lot of battlefields before, during or after battle - but usually with squinted eyes, gagged.  
“You get used to it”, the Teutonic Order mumbled, trying to move at least one of his arms, but failing at the frozen hinges. “Could you start now? A layer of ice is forming around my butt and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t belong there!”  
“I’m on it.” Deep down Ivan was pretty sure that it should be the other way around in this situation. The prisoner should be at least a little bit afraid. Okay, he was trembling. But not out of fear. Ivan was pretty sure about that, because he knew what fear looked like, even though he never really liked looking at the battlefields.  
His old hunting knife sliced the first straps after a lot of ripping and pulling, and he could free at least one arm.  
The boy moved his stiff arm up and down, just to grasp Ivans knife after that. “Good grief”, he said in awe, “THAT’S your knife? I could ride on that to Jerusalem without a break and it would still be more comfortable than my last saddle.” Darkly, he gazed in the direction of the lake and seemed to have the opinion that said saddle would be better off down there than under his (freezing) butt. He then rummaged through his boot as good as he could, and pulled out a small, but sharp-looking knife, which he used to slice a part of the remaining straps before handing it to Ivan. “Try this, I can’t reach the rest.”  
“You’re armed?!” Surprised, Ivan looked down on the small knife. Okay, it was not big at all, not much larger than his palm, but it did look sharp. Unlike his own, with which you could probably plough through a field too. Probably even better than trying to cut something with it that was harder than softened butter.  
“I WAS armed, but I assume my sword has now arrived at the ground of this annoying, icy puddle.” With a derogatory look, he looked over to said “puddle” and held the knife under Ivans nose, with the handle in front. “This is barely an appropriate weapon, that’s something to slice things with.”  
“Yes”, Ivan swallowed, “Throats.”  
“Throats?” The boy started chuckling with a silent hiss, “Could work, but, two important things, chubby.”  
“You’re unable to form proper sentences?” Chubby? He had heavy bones, at least that was what his sister always said. Pouting, Ivan glowered at his Theoretically-HE-was-the-prisoner. But this one didn’t even flinch and still held his knife out to him.  
“Very well, if you can’t think of it yourself”, he grinned at Ivan almost completely without humor, “First of all, except for this one arm, I’m completely frozen in this stupid armor and I can assure you: It really sucks. And second of all: I’m giving you MY knife, so you can free me. How likely is it, that I’m planning to slit your throat with that?”  
Not very likely, Ivan had to admit. But he still didn’t trust the other. Just because he wasn’t shouting for once and claiming that they’d all get much closer to the heavenly empire with the help of God (too close, Ivan thought, and knew that he wasn’t alone with that opinion) but was actually acting almost amiable, he didn’t have to start liking the biggest pest after the damned Mongolian army, or even place his trust in him. Which, by the way, corresponded to the distance of tree to bark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently updating every 3 days, but I can't promise it will stay like that. My uploading schedule is very inconsistent and usually I'm more busy than now.   
> But I'll try my best.


	4. Raiders

Without his armor and the wet clothes, the Teutonic Order looked more like a hermit who had taken a fasting vow. The ribs were visible beneath the very pale skin and each of the many small bruises was visible. Although, Ivan could only get a few short looks at him, since he immediately disappeared between the blankets, which, however, didn’t involve the warmth he’d hoped for.  
“It’s freezing cold!” the Order, who was slowly turning a bit blue, complained. “We need fire!”  
“You’ve got some in your pockets?”, Ivan, who was somewhat annoyed with this sense of entitlement, huffed. “Because I don’t.”  
“That would have surprised me anyway, since you’re obviously the boy who likes to wear his clothes as stiff as possible,” the Teutonic Order replied with chattering teeth, “And you’re not even shivering a bit.” Especially the last part scraped the honor of the equally frozen and frustrated Order, who had by now completely disappeared under the blankets and was trying to thaw himself with warm thoughts.   
“I’m not really bothered by the cold”, Ivan defended himself. He had stumbled out of the woods like this, and considering how long and icy the winters were here, it was generally a good thing that he didn’t get cold that fast. He could see how that ended - with a pile of shivering blankets that was able to radiate a vaguely bad mood.  
“If you can get some firewood, I’d have fire with me”, the pile of blankets suggested.  
“Really?” Ivan looked over to him, astonished. “Can you conjure it up or something?”  
“Because of my appealing red eyes or my devilishly pale skin?” Ivan flinched a bit at the bitterness he could hear out of his voice, and because he had to admit: Yes, that had been his exact thought. His, and that of probably everyone else who had seen the Order.  
“I’ll conjure a tribe of the fieriest demons from hell with my devilish powers, and then I’ll let them light a campfire - ideally they should bring wood with them as well. And some food.” He could hear a disdainful huff from under the blankets, before a more conciliatory, but surprisingly sarcastic voice continued: “Or I’ll just use my tinderbox and you go search for some wood. Although… food really would be nice.”  
With regret, Ivan noticed that his stomach had also been neglected in the matter of food intake, and was now growling at him in hopes of a quick change of the situation. “Maybe I can find something while looking for wood”, he mumbled and fished out a string from his few possessions, which he took to the pile of blankets and pulled his prisoner’s wrists out.  
“Hello? What’s that supposed to be when it’s done?” the other protested and tried to pull his hands back into the blanket cave that was at least dry (you couldn’t really call it warm). However, Ivans grip was decidedly stronger than that of the very offended looking Order.  
“You’re a prisoner”, Ivan explained calmly, “I can’t risk you running away?”  
“You’re joking, right?” A pair of bewildered red eyes stared at Ivan, “You did notice it’s deep winter, right?”  
“Pre-spring”, Ivan said grouchily, “Pretty much thaw already.”  
“If you say so, frosty pre-spring, with a lot of snow and ice and all of my clothes are wet, no - wait - frozen, and I’m just wearing some blankets and no shoes because those are currently frozen to the ground. Barefoot in the snow, that sounds great…”  
“As a matter of fact, walking through the snow barefoot is possible” Ivan determined with a slightly reprimanding voice. He had walked trough the snow barefoot many times! And it almost didn’t.... it had been freezing cold and not a good idea. Not even for him. “You could wrap rugs around your legs.”  
“I could also skip through the woods, naked, and sing ‘Catch me, I’m the spring’.” Small, glowing eyes looked at Ivan in a way that made him nervous.  
“You wouldn’t really sing, right?” he tried to cautiously approach the Orders’ sense of humor. The pile of blankets huffed.   
“I wouldn’t even skip through these woods and sing if I was wearing clothes. Not in this pre-spring. I’m cold, wet and hungry, and at least two of those problems could be solved by firewood, so: Why should I run away?”  
“...” Pensive, Ivan scratched his head. Every spot. Several times. “I haven’t got the slightest idea”, he finally answered, truthfully. “But if my prince shows up and my hostage is gone, it’s really going to be like in a fairy tale and that’s why the string stays where it is. On. Your. Wrists.”  
“Fairy tale?!”  
Darkly, Ivan looked out of his patched clothes. “Do you know Russian fairy tales?” he asked, gwoling silently, “Nothing for bedtime.” And with this announcement he stomped into the woods to get firewood.

You’d think finding firewood in a forest should be easy.  
But finding somewhat burnable wood at the end of winter that didn’t completely disappear under the snow, turned out to be harder than expected. Until he found an armful, it was already noon and the sun even warmed him a bit. The water splattered and dripped around him. The short, warm summertime would be there in a short while, even though everything still looked a lot like winter right now.  
The upcoming warmth was actually pretty nice. He could understand that the Order preferred warmth, but this was the north after all, so it was cold and snowy. Also he was sure that he’d heard of other countries, where it also snowed in April once in a while and where they also got ground frost. Where birds froze mid-flight, something you could probably file under “unpredictable april-weather”.  
At least it looked nice, all of the glittering and shining because of the dripping thaw water that made his way through ice and snow in small creeks. Maybe it was because the forest was glowing in the bright noon light, maybe because it was so difficult to find good firewood, maybe he just needed a while to come to terms with the thought of keeping company to this truly difficult (but probably gold-bringing) Teutonic Order. It was probably enogh to breathe the same air as him. Fact was, that Ivan only heard the noise when he could already see the improvised camp.

Even before he could see anything, he heard the shrill, angry, well known voice of the Order. He didn’t completely understand what the Order was shouting, but the things he COULD understand didn’t speak for a peaceful, social get-together. Also it ruined Ivans idea of civilized handlings amongst the battle monks for good. (Although he doubted that most of the described actions were even possible. Especially the past with the ripped off arm and the unwieldy sanitary assistance seemed VERY unlikely to happen in practical execution.)  
With the carefulness of a young nation who had spent a lot of time running from bludgeoning troublemakers with murderous intentions, Ivan DIDN’T start running, but tried to get an overview first, which turned out to be more difficult than expected because his technically-the-prisoner and at least two other men were involved in a wild chaos - and while looking at them, Ivan couldn’t shake the feeling that he should actually help the men. Even though they were armed and definitely didn’t have good intentions. People with good intentions didn’t try to hassle unarmed and almost naked boys with their swords.   
Currently, it looked like the Order was winning.  
This was probably because he didn’t limit himself to fighting with recognized weapons (mainly because he didn’t have any, they’d sunken with him and were now resting on the ground of the lake after all). He was holding something in his hands, and it wasn’t the string that should be tying his hands together, but the hands were only two of the problems the men had. The other problems consisted of the legs, the feet, the arms, the head, the teeth and surprisingly even his butt. Ivan had no idea how this battle strategy was called, but it could probably accurately be described with “rioting and raging”.  
All in all, this special battle tactic… Strategy? Bustle? Chaos? This special sort of tangle seemd to have his advantages, because the closer the now preferrably careful Ivan approached, the better he could look at the damage that was already caused. One of the damages was laying in the snow a few feet away, motionless, Ivan was pretty sure that the man was most likely dead. Alive people usually wore their head on their shoulders. On the other hand, with all of the damned magic happening when the Baba Yaga was nearby, you could never really know.

“Next to you!” he could hear the Order shout, and barely managed to dodge a powerful blow that would have made a split person out of Ivan. Most of the time, Ivan was small, friendly and ready to carefully pick up small birds who had fallen out of their nests, and climb up high trees to put them back into their nests. Even though upset parent birds, who didn’t quite understand the situation, could attack him.  
But sometimes, the friendly small Ivan took a HUGE step aside and the world around him turned dark purple and very, very bloody. It wasn’t like some other spirit possesed him or that he turned into something completely strange, it was just that this other Ivan was way more ready to continue certain trains of thought - and realise them. The normal Ivan considered a tree branch to be a piece of future firewood or a sturdy hiking cane, from time to time even something that could help him defending himself against othes. Obviously he also had all those other ideas on how to use sticks, but he couldn’t bring himself to translate those ideas into action.  
He was afraid of the other Ivan, but if he was honest, he had to admit: The other Ivan had saved his life more than a few times already. Usually by taking it from others. He knew a lot about sticks and other people’s bodies and how to combine them.  
Muted through the big purple cloud of rage, he could hear someone scream and noticed something sharp hitting him. Something warm flowed down his hip and someone shouted at him angrily. He wanted to turn around, but something stuck in his body and hindered him. With a jolt, he turned around anyway and felt the object piercing deeper into his side. “A sword?” the other Ivan asked, slightly amused, while Ivan the Ordinary was worried about the fact that the world would be less purple in some time, but even more blood red and painful. “And now what? Shouldn’t that be more piercing?” The man just stared at him with huge, welling eyes, but not because he was impressed with Ivan, the cause was the other sword, which slowly made its way through his rib cage. Confused, Ivan blinked, and with the blink, the purple veil disappeared and left behind piercing pain, fear, and the feeling of narrowly having escaped. Wheezing, the man in front of him fell into the snow and behind him, the Order showed up, strongly damaged but standing on both of his legs. Both, bare, blue legs that were shaking from the cold, but still managed to carry the rest, including the bloody sword. “Trouble”, the Order croaked, before letting himself drop into the snow. “You’re bleeding.”

“We should do something.”  
“We are doing something.”  
Tired, Ivan looked down at himself, then to the Order, and shook his head. “Yes, we’re bleeding on the snow”, he determined much calmer than he thought he’d be. “You can’t exactly call that an activity.”  
“Can you move?” The question wasn’t entirely unjustified. With delicate fingertips Ivan inspected the long rip in his shirt and the also not exactly small cut in his flesh, which burned and tore painfully.   
“Yes, but it hurts”, he grumbled and looked over to the Order, who looked bad. He was wearing a sack-like shirt, or better, the torn down leftovers, but he was covered with blood all over, how much of that used to be in himself and how much in his opponents, couldn’t be determined. If that guy weren’t so pale! Ivan thought, you’d be able to notice whether he was missing a few litres of blood. He had enough cuts and a handful nasty looking bruises for that. “What sort of people were that?!”  
“War crows” the Order replied, and attempted to figure out how cold his legs were with his freezing fingers, but recongized after a few tries that he wouldn’t get any results like this. “You don’t usually stay long enough for the raid, hm?”  
Usually his prince let him leave directly after the battle, because it made him sick that his nation always was sick himself after battle. “I don’t like the raiding”, he admitted timidly, and started collecting a few of the sticks he could reach. “I don’t like the battles either, but my prince insists I’m there.”  
“Well, if that’s not a special pleasure to all of us”, the boy replied, his voice surprisingly raspy for such a young throat, “I usually stay until all of my people have disappeared, and even though they swore chastity and poverty… “  
“They raid anyway?”  
The Order’s smile was so crooked that it threatened to fall to the ground, clattering. “Yeah, that too. They raid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy easter if you celebrate that!  
> it's been longer than I expected this to take.. but the next chapter might arrive sooner.


	5. Careful Inspections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been longer than I thought it would be, sorry.

“Why didn’t you just let them raid? Not like there was much to get anyway.”  
Pensive, Ivan looked at everything that was scattered around and concluded that none of it would have been worth even a small bruise.  
Except for the armour, even though he doubted that it was a size that was needed a lot. “Do you really like your armour that much?”  
“It is worth a good amount of money”, the Order admitted, “But I wouldn’t let myself get beaten up for it. No, if it had been up to me, they could have taken everything, but they were persistent.”  
“They wanted to steal the blankets too?!” The blankets were old, chewed by moths and squirrels. Not even the local farmers would steal something like that.  
“They didn’t really care about the blankets, more about what was in them”, the boy grumbled and started raiding the raiders himself, proceeding more routinely than Ivan thought was reassuring. His picture of knights was influenced by two sources: Personal experiences and fairy tales. And once again Ivan realized: Real knights and knights from fairy tales didn’t have much in common. Although he did believe that the Teutonic Order was capable of slaying a three-headed dragon. Most likely with the help of a few very unfair moves.  
“But there was nothing in the blankets?” he asked and uncomfortably looked over to the Order, who made a very grim face. The suspicion that creeped up to Ivan was more than bad.  
“Yeah, it was”, the Order disagreed, “I was in there. And you won’t believe it, they actually thought it’d be a good idea to kidnap me.”  
“Ransom?” Ivan asked, but deep down he knew this wasn’t about money. Those were raiders, they didn’t send off negotiators to discuss about ransom money. These men would probably fail at the soldiers in front of the castle, who had the task “don’t let everyone inside”. Which worked perfectly fine for single people, for entire armies less so. People told each other that this reached from arguments between the princes, who then walked into the castles (“What do you mean, there was a guard?”) to the Golden Horde that just rode over the entire castle (“What do you mean, there was a castle?”).  
“No, this was something about one of the local princely moneybags announcing, that he’d be ready to pay a nice amount of money for this little devil the Order summoned. To check whether this devil could be sent back to hell after all - and to negotiate about possible absolution with the patriarch, while he’s at it”, the Order huffed angrily, “It’s definitely necessary for him. The absolution.”  
“Send back to hell?” That didn’t sound good, and Ivan hoped that he’d misunderstood something there. He’d like to believe that his people were generally peaceful, but he’d slowly started to doubt that a bit.  
“According to rumours, I’m from hell.” Ivan swallowed silently, he’d been an orthodox country long enough to know that this was a dangerous accusation. “Which of course makes a lot of sense, given the fact that I’m the very hellish Teutonic Order.” Angrily, the Order pulled at the boots of the smallest raider, which could become his size with the friendly help of a pair of thick, woolen socks. “It sure makes sense to try and exorcise the devil with a cross in your hands, when it’s sitting inside someone who voluntarily wears crosses on his entire clothing. The boots finally separated from the legs and he stared on the men, panting.  
“Guess our reputation around here isn’t the best.”  
“Leaves much to be desired”, Ivan admitted anxiously. “But how… about the thing with Hell and sending you there?” He earned a weird look, followed by a quiet “That’s obvious, isn’t it?” The Order didn’t want to say more about this, and Ivan was sure that he didn’t necessarily wanted to know more either.

Ivan would have liked to leave as soon as possible, away from the lake, from other raiders and from the corpses of the less lucky thieves. The slightly croaky voice of (pale) reason noted that it was still winter, that they were still wet, with empty stomachs, and that there was under all known circumstances a “miserably long and probably really cold” way in front of them.  
So they made a compromise. Making a compromise with the Order meant getting the firewood, getting rid of the corpses (this was really a fantastic day for the fish), draping the wet clothes around the fire (and extinguishing them when it got a bit TOO dry) and walking off several times to complete different orders, while also trying to clarify the situation several times: HE was the hostage. It would be very nice if he could make the effort to act like it for once.  
Ivan had abandoned the idea with the shackles pretty fast, especially since he ran out of ropes, which the Order got rid of faster than Ivan could tie him up again. “Aren’t you getting tired of this by now, chubby?” the order asked in a way that was too etching to be described with ‘scornful’, while holding the rope up once again.  
It was in the same state as Ivan’s nerves: Extremely frayed.  
“I could also wrap you in the blankets, dip you into the lake and wait until you’ve turned into a solid block of ice”, he grumbled tartly, “Let’s see how you can make your way out of THAT. Also, I’m not chubby.”  
“I’m more slippery than I look”, the Order claimed promptly, “And you do look chubby, with cubby red cheeks, chubby fingers and probably a chubby belly too. Therefore you’re chubby.”  
Ivan’s purple eyes flickered a bit and he poked with his (slightly chubby) fingers against the Order’s bony chest. “I’m not chubby.” Ivan disagreed vehemently, “I’ve got heavy bones. And I’ve got a name.”  
“Chubbyman?” the Order suggested, with a great feeling for words that should have been left unsaid, “Heavybones? Cold meatball?” Deep down, Ivan realised two things. Firstly, that the Order was exactly the horrible, outrageous and loud-mouthed nuisance everyone believed him to be. And secondly: ‘Cold meatball’ was definitely far behind everything that even a good-natured nation like him could tolerate.  
On the other hand, he’d helped him when the Order attacked him with a sword, and there was also the circumstance that his prince expected an alive hostage who was in an at least somewhat presentable state. Although, until they finished their negotiations, weeks could pass, if not months. Enough time, especially for a nation. His own wounds and those of his sisters usually healed pretty quickly, so how long could it take for a small flowery greeting to disappear? Some flowers bloomed even in the russian pre-spring, especially those violets.  
“Ivan”, he growled, “My name is Ivan. Or Russia. How impolite are you, attacking other people and not even knowing their name?!”  
The Order, laying on the ground now, made a weird squeaky noise before he tried to get up, pressing a handful of snow against his eye. “You’re definitely a penetrative force”, he murmured, trying to grin slightly, “But while we’re at it, I’m Gilbert, also known as the goddamned Teutonic Order, but you already know that.”  
“Gilbert.” Ivan took a deep breath. Theoretically, he should say something like “nice to meet you” now, but he had the justified suspicion, that “nice” wasn’t the right word here. Not even close. “Do people like us survive getting butchered by wild wolves?”  
“Irgks… you’re asking questions!”  
It became purple around Ivan once again and his eyes got this strange expression.  
“Would you like to try it out?”  
The Teutonic Order didn’t look like he wanted to.  
“In that case, we should try to make it through all of this together” Ivan said, now much more friendly. “Because they will show up eventually, and even though there’s a lot of - uhmmmm - meat around here, those wolves are really greedy, especially now at the end of winter.”

The prospect of wolves didn’t really impress Gilbert, he was dawdling around unwillingly, although he resisted calling Ivan other names. Only a quiet “He’s going to sit on me if I call him chubby one more time and then I’ll be flat” could have been heard if Ivan hadn’t preferred being a bit deaf and asking nicely wether he could help him lash the cargo on the sled.  
But when the shadows became longer and the air colder and the hoarse barking of the wolves could be heard from the lake, he became a bit more hectic and turned out to be a dexterous and continuously fast helper. With his help, they could pack the sled.  
“Guess we are the two donkeys who can pull this thing, hm?” Gilbert asked a bit grumpily. “And the road is probably long and icy?”  
“We can also carry the blankets and the rest of the firewood ourselves.” Thoughtful, Ivan scratched his head and adjusted his scarf. “Is it just me, or is the barking of the wolves coming closer?”  
“Well, if we dawdle around all day, we’ll never get going”, Gilbert hurried to say, and grabbed one of the two ropes with which they pulled the sled, and stomped the first few steps through the snow, until Ivan picked up his own ope and they went off together, into the woods.

Something like a road through the forest existed. It could mainly be determined by the fact that there were no trees standing on it. At least no big ones. This road was used, but not often. There were a few forest farmers and lumberjacks who walked here, a few hunters and beaters who chased the game to the border of the forest while hunting, where the princes were waiting for their hunt - because THEY wouldn’t crawl through the wet forest for hours until the ladies and gentlemen Large Game bothered showing up. Well, there were going to be some wilderers and probably also some thieves, at least where the forest path crossed the trading road. And all others weren’t exactly the kind of people who used roads.  
They were moving forward, the prospect of a roof over the head and a floor under the butt (not to forget the four walls that kept away the cold, wind, and possible wolves) motivated his prisoner way more than any threat Ivan could have thought of. He lacked the practice in that area anyway.  
Without his armour, but with dry clothes and strenghtened by some of the food the raiders had passed onto the two young nations, much to their surprise, he was way faster and more enduring than Ivan had expected from this thin half-knight.  
Still, they had a long way to go to Ivans cabin when the dusk crawled over them and the biting cold returned with the shadows. The air was so cold that it hurt to breathe, and the frost crawled through all layers of clothing, deep into the bones. They still went onward, until Ivan heard a hoarse wheeze and a dull slam and the sled became twice as heavy in a beat.  
He turned around in confusion and discovered the Order, who was laying face-down in the snow and made panting noises. He tried to get up several times, but didn’t even manage to sit up, instead he stayed laying on his stomach and looked at Ivan with tired eyes. “Not one more step”, he groaned and sunk into the snow again, which didn’t look very healthy.  
“You’re going to freeze off body parts like that”, Ivan prophecied grimly, “Snow doesn’t get warmer if you lie on it.”  
“Mrmpfrmmm”, a dull voice came through the snow, “Prfft…!”  
“You don’t want to go on, or you can’t?” The hand of the Order went up and wiggled limply around in the air, until it fell down into the snow and another noise (“Argk”) could be heard.  
“So you can’t go on.” Ivan decided and sat on the sled. They still had a long way to go to his cabin, and he was tired too. But sleeping outside? Even he got cold at that thought, and he was more used to this kind of weather. At the back of his head, he remembered that there was a lumberjack cabin, not too far away, where they would be at least somewhat protected and with some luck there was no snow in it either. He just had to make it there, even with the now softly snoring Order as additional baggage on the sled.


End file.
